


Devastation

by BlairFagin



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairFagin/pseuds/BlairFagin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Constructicons are determined to make their relationship with Prowl work. Prowl on the other hand does not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devastation

Prowl had refused to have his hab suite anywhere near the Constructicons, let alone share one with them. He understood that gestalts were close, unnaturally so, but he refused to share in it. He didn’t choose them; he didn’t belong with them. They hadn’t chosen each other either - Devastator being the result of Megatron’s choosing - as Prowl had discovered from their memories. Nonetheless the Constructicons… fit together, in their own way. 

Prowl sat glaring at his cube of energon as the Constructicons entered the room, moving as one, identical paint blurring where one ended and another began. Unbearably close from the multiple times they had combined. 

“Hey, Prowl,” shouted Long Haul across the room, waving enthusiastically.

Prowl put his head down and buried himself in his data pad. If he looked busy, maybe they would get the hint. 

“Prowl buddy, you deaf or something?” asked a voice right above Prowl’s head.

He glared up and found himself surrounded by Constructicons, who took their seats at his table, violating his space. Long Haul slung a strong arm around Prowl’s shoulder and pulled him close. 

“Would you mind letting go?” snarled Prowl, pointing at the offending limb. “I don’t like being touched.”

“Come on Prowl,” chuckled Long Haul, shuffling in closer. “We’re a gestalt now, we’re meant to spend time together and be a bit touchy-feely. It’s part of the job.”

“One I didn’t choose to be part of,” retorted Prowl, throwing off the larger mech and storming away from the table. 

“But that doesn’t change the fact you are part of us now. You felt that closeness right? That sense of being one? That isn’t going away.”

Metal ground against metal as Prowl dug in his heels and spun round. “That doesn’t mean we are friends. We are merely co-workers and I intend to treat it as such. I hope you follow suit.”  
The common room breezed past Prowl as he made a quick exit, away from the intense stares of the Constructicons.

-

The cube materialised before him, drawing him away from his paper work and making him very much aware of the Constructicon invading his office.

“You look like you need a drink.” Mixmaster smiled, shaking the cube as if to entice Prowl. 

“I’m working,” retorted Prowl, returning to his work.

Mixmaster took a seat on the desk, making it groan. “Yeah, and you have been for the past twenty hours. Come on, it’s my own special brew.”

Prowl sighed and ripped the cube from Mixmaster’s servos. “One.”

Hours and countless cubes later, Prowl laid slumped against his wall, giggling while resting his helm against Mixmaster’s strong shoulder. He felt good, from his tingling peds to his numb audials. A drink of Mixmaster’s could light his glossa on fire with one sip then douse it with the next. It could be sweet, smooth and mouth-watering or sharp, addictive and intoxicating, depending on what affect the Constructicon wanted. Prowl was convinced the first drink’s intention was destroying his carefully constructed discipline.  
Why had he agreed to drink with the Constructicon? He couldn’t find the drive to care, all he could think or feel was the manic energy of Mixmaster as he was swept up in it, laughing like he hadn’t in millennia. He drank more, feelings of unease disappearing, along with the memories of their forced relationship. 

He dissolved into a strutless mess, half draped across Mixmaster, servos clinging to that broad chassis, babbling nonsense. The mixer was uncharacteristically gentle with him, guiding him back to his berth when the floor fell out from beneath Prowl’s peds. He caressed Prowl’s faceplate in farewell as he left. In that moment, just before recharge claimed Prowl, he could almost forgive the Constructicon for being who he was. 

-

Prowl eyed Bonecrusher out the corner of his optic, surveying the Constructicon as he sat happily next to him, chugging down his energon with a faint smile. 

“Thanks for letting me sit in your office, Prowl.”

Prowl’s knuckles beat at the dark surface of the desk. He glared. “I’m debating whether or not to let you, seeing as this is in response to all those fights you’ve started. I really should be punishing you, not rewarding you.”

Bonecrusher grinned, bright denta flashing. Prowl was struck by how attractive the Constructicon was under all that hideous paint.

“But sitting here, you know I won’t get into any trouble.”

Prowl’s ever-present scowl only deepened. As of late, the amount of times he’d had to stop a fight was ridiculous, most of the time sparked by Bonecrusher. He was always the first to resort to his fists, seemingly incapable of settling a disagreement any other way. So there Prowl was, forced to share company with a Constructicon. There could be worse fates, he supposed. 

A knock on the door alerted him to Rodimus’ presence, the young mech holding a stack of data pads.

“Where do you want these?”

Prowl motioned to his desk. “Just right here would be fine. Thank you Rodimus.”

“Just don’t expect this too often, Prowl,” sighed Rodimus, nearly throwing the pads on the desk. “I’m only doing this because Optimus was busy. I don’t like doing favours for murderous glitches like you.”

The reaction was instantaneous, far too fast for Prowl to react. One second he had been sitting at his desk, the next on the floor with a muddled helm. Bonecrusher had surged past him, throwing the desk out of the way, which had taken Prowl with it, all to get to Rodimus. He looked up in confusion, the world narrowing as the brawling pair battled it out above him. 

Green platting, streaked with pink glowing energon, cables coiled with tense energy and optics flaring red. Then the world went black and he awoke in the med bay, surrounded by medics. 

He didn’t even go to his office first, or check in with his superiors. As soon as he was signed out he stormed straight to the brig, knowing what he’d find there. 

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” sighed the guard as he let the Constructicon leave.

Prowl nodded his thanks and left, Bonecrusher hot on his heels. He briefly wondered when he’d started defending the Constructicons and tolerating them in his presence. Why was he agreeing to the twisted thing they had?

-

The gifts had started when they had moved back to Earth, mostly from Scavenger. The Constructicon was at his happiest coated in a layer of dirt, arms filled with shining trinkets he’d dug up for Prowl, anxious for the tactician’s approval. Prowl took every one of them, thanking Scavenger for being so thoughtful. A good team relationship was important after all, he had decided. 

“Hey, Prowl. I need to show you something,” mumbled Scavenger as he stood in the doorway of Prowl’s office, optics firmly fixed on the ground. 

Prowl bit his derma, mulling the idea over before settling. “Lead the way.”

His nerves had been set off when the blindfold had been wrapped around his helm and his servo taken so Scavenger could lead him underground. He hoped that since their last combining the Constructicons hadn’t lost their affection for him and decided to offline him somewhere far away from the Autobot base. 

“You ready?” breathed Scavenger into his audial. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” bit out Prowl, trying to calm his fluttering spark.

He gasped when the blindfold was peeled off and he found himself standing in a large cavern, coated from floor to ceiling in glittering gems. Colours ranged across the spectrum in varieties he had never seen before. Some were as small as his fingers, while others the size of a Dinobot, all glimmering and magnificent. It reminded him of the crystal gardens of Praxus, before the war , and he felt a spark deep pang of nostalgia. 

“Do you like it?” asked Scavenger, shuffling close to Prowl. 

“It’s beautiful,” replied the tactician, filled with genuine awe. 

Beside him, Scavenger shuddered. Prowl looked up at him, concerned. The Constructicon bit his derma before he placed his massive servos on Prowl’s shoulders. 

“Not as beautiful as you are,” he spluttered out, face flushed with energon.

It was cheesy and terrible, but it gave sense to everything that had happened: the gifts, the drinks, defending him and touching him more than necessary. Love was such a foreign emotion to Prowl that he hadn’t even recognised the emotion he felt when they had joined. Prowl took a step back, mouth hanging open. He searched his processor for something to say, anything. He found nothing, so he did the only thing he could do and ran.

-

It was hard avoiding the Constructicons. Even before the incident with Scavenger, they had always been there. Afterward, they were even more determined to seek him out. All except for Scavenger, who had retreated to the Constructicon hab suite, rarely leaving except for battles. 

Prowl had some leeway on the field. Optimus trusted his judgement enough to direct the troops. Those directions put as much space between him and the Constructicons as he could manage. The plan worked well, until it ended with him on a medical slab, groaning in pain as his welds set. 

“You look horrible.”

“What do you expect?” Prowl snapped at Hook. “I got ran through with a sword and kicked while I was down.”

“Do you want me to get the dents and scratches out? The welds need time, but the rest I can do now.”

Prowl nodded, remembering Hook had medical training and there was also the fact that right then, he wanted the company. Even if it was a Constructicon.

The two sat in silence as Hook set up his tools and went to work. He bashed out the dents, fixed the small tears with tiny welds and buffed his battered frame until it once more shone. The entire time, he muttered about substandard Autobot medics. 

“If you’re done, you can leave now,” mumbled Prowl once Hook began packing away his tools.

Hook’s derma set to a grim line, but he inclined his helm respectfully. “Whatever makes you feel better, Prowl.”

Prowl lay in silence and stared at the ceiling. He had never felt so cold. 

-

“You’re coming with me.” Long Haul caught Prowl’s servo and guided the tactician to the door. 

“What? Let go!” commanded Prowl. His free servo clawed at the Constructicon’s, but it was useless with such thick platting. 

“No,” growled Long Haul, yanking Prowl down the hall, strong servo unrelenting as it tightened its grip. 

The Autobots stood aside in silence, letting it happen, even as Prowl thrashed and struggled. That was it, he was finally going to die, all because he had rejected Scavenger and dismissed Hook. Long Haul said nothing as he dragged him down the hall towards the shared Constructicon hab suite, throwing him inside when the door opened. 

“You didn’t have to throw him. You scratched up all my hard work,” grumbled Hook as he helped Prowl to his feet.

Long Haul stared at his feet, aggressive body language dissolving by the second. “I didn’t know he’d fall.”

“Shame on you.”

“Yeah, you almost hurt our Prowl.”

“I am not your Prowl!” shouted the tactician. He surged to his feet, slapping away the Constructicons. “So stop with the gifts, stop rushing to my defence when I can handle myself and leave me alone!”

Long Haul stormed forward until they were chassis to chassis. “No.”

“What?”

“I said no.”

“Why not?” grit out Prowl, voice filled with false bravado he only hoped would fool the Constructicons pressing in from all sides. 

“Because we love you, Prowl, and you can’t accept that, not because you don’t feel something for us, but because you were forced to be a part of Devastator by Megatron and it still haunts you. Even though we went through the same thing and resolved it,” explained Long Haul, voice low and body hunched. 

Prowl laughed long and hard, until coolant ran down his face and he was near double over. “You seriously think I haven’t returned your twisted feelings because of that? I’m not some broken soft spark, I just genuinely hate you.”

“You’re lying Prowl. I’ve been inside your head, we all have. We know how you feel about losing control, having your choices taken for you. You pretend it doesn’t affect you, but it does. You have to remember, Prowl, that it was Megatron who took that choice away, not us.”

Prowl stared up in disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you think that we’ll just hurt you, but we won’t. You need to accept that!”  
Prowl shook before Long Haul, the silence heavy between them. 

Long Haul’s servos hovered over Prowl, unsure whether or not to touch him. “I know it’s hard to accept but no matter what happens, you’re part of this gestalt and everything that comes with it. You’ve felt the emotion building between us, you feel for us the same way we feel about you. We’re not going anywhere and I swear we won’t hurt you. You can take as long as you want, but please, just consider us.”

“He’s right, Prowl.”

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

“We’re not Megatron.”

“We like you too much to do anything bad to you, Prowl.” 

Long Haul’s faceplate receded, showing his lopsided grin, “So what do you say?”

Prowl bit his derma and nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at the Constructicons with their endearing looks of hope. “Okay.”


End file.
